


explode

by orphan_account



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Borderline Personality Disorder, Getting Back Together, Happy Ending, Heavy Angst, M/M, One Night Stands, not between pete and patrick tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-25
Updated: 2016-10-25
Packaged: 2018-08-24 16:00:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8378509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: A look into the life of BPD!Patrick during the hiatus.





	

Patrick hates himself as he loses weight. Patrick hates himself as he doesn't contact Pete. Patrick hates himself when he feels emptiness in his heart. Patrick hates himself when he passes sleepless nights, thinking Pete has replaced him, that Pete doesn't miss him, that he's so much better on his own than he is.

He writes songs. Writes about Pete cheating, writes about drinking too much, writes about Pete. Pete, Pete, Pete. He knows he's better without Patrick, he knows it deep down. He hates himself for needing him, he hates himself for being such an attention whore.

He calls him out of impulse and doesn't dare to hang up before he answers. Pete takes many rings, but he answers the phone. "Patrick?" he asks, his voice cold.

"How have you been doing?" are the first words Patrick dares to say in two years without talking to him. There's more questions in the back of his throat: Do you miss me? Do you want me? Did you replace me?

"I've been doing well," Pete answers flatly. "Got a girlfriend," he adds, and Patrick can almost see in his mind him kissing this girl, making love to her. He's touch starved and he makes his best attempt at not crying about this.

"Oh... good," Patrick responds, his tone lacking. "I'm happy for you," he lies.

"What about you? How have you been doing?"

"I'm fine," he lies again, his tongue in his cheek. He fakes a smile, even though Pete can't see him. "Pulling new music soon."

"Yeah. Good luck with that."

"Yeah... Sorry, I just wanted to hear your voice. I—" he stops himself.

"What? You miss me?" Pete says. When Patrick doesn't respond, he hears the clicking of Pete's tongue. "Well, I don't. It's your fault Folie was so badly received." Patrick can almost feel the words he's gonna spill next: because you were so fat. He hangs up before he can hear him say them.

Patrick finds himself drinking whiskey straight from the bottle, his lungs on fire. Tears prick his eyes as he keeps drinking until he can barely get up. He cries. "He doesn't miss me, he's replaced me," he says in sobs, his heart has never felt this empty.

He hears the phone ring and he answers. "Patrick, I'm sorry, I—" he immediately hears Patrick scream and he goes silent. "Patrick?"

"You're not sorry, it's true, it's my fault, it's okay that you don't miss me," he says, breathing heavily. "It's okay it's okay it's okay," he repeats to himself, his eyes watering as he sobs uncontrollably.

"You drank," Pete realizes, and Patrick hangs up again.

The only sound in his house is crying. He cries until he doesn't have the tears. He feels useless, tired out; like it's his fault Pete doesn't miss him. That Pete got a girlfriend.

He bites his tongue and leaves the whiskey bottle in the floor as he goes to bed. He wishes life was better without who he idolizes, but it isn't easy.

* * *

Patrick looks at the crowd. There's a few men there— none of them are baby-faced, so Patrick can guess most of them are adults. He just wants to feel something, be lavished in attention, even if that means having meaningless sex.

He walks up to one of them. He has fiery red hair, but it's nothing like Gerard's. He touches his shoulder and the man turns around. "How old are you?" Patrick asks.

"Twenty," he responds. "Good show, by the—" he shuts up when Patrick kisses him. Not sweetly, just like he needs it. He needs to feel something.

"Have sex with me."

"I'm not—" the word 'gay' is drowned out when Patrick kisses him again and pulls him against the wall of the building. "I. Okay. Okay."

"You alright with this?" Patrick asks, almost as if he's done this before. He's never had a one night stand. There's a first time for everything, isn't it? When the man nods he asks for his name, and the man says his name is Kal.

"Okay, Kal," Patrick purrs as he slides the man's jeans down.

It doesn't take too long for them both to come, and Patrick is proud of himself when he pulls his jeans back on.

He tries not to think of how Pete's name almost escaped his lips more than once.

* * *

He drinks until the edges of his vision are blurry and tears prick at his eyes. He feels useless and dirty. All he's done is sing, give blow jobs in the back of the buildings he performs in and miss Pete.

"God, god, god, god—" he repeats as his nails dig into his palm painfully. He closes his eyes, counts to twenty and loses count at thirteen. He's so, so drunk and he only wants Pete to be what he was before it all went to shit. His support system, his lover, the reason he's alive.

He doesn't mind being fucked ruthlessly by guys he doesn't even know as whimpers escape his lips and God, he swears he wishes Pete was who fucked him like a toy. He's only that.

"I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself." The words ring on his ears, he doesn't want to keep going like this. Everyone hates his new work, his new music— everyone hates his terribly skinny self.

He pours another glass of whiskey and drinks it all in one go. His vision is blurry and he feels hazy. Before he knows it, he passes out on the living room floor.

* * *

He wakes up to someone knocking on the door. He's still a little drunk, he's still really, really tired and feeling like absolute shit. But he gets up, fixes his clothes and opens the door.

He sees Pete. He looks at him with wide eyes, not believing what he sees. What is he doing here? he asks himself silently.

"What do you want?" Patrick asks.

"You," Pete answers. "I broke up with her. I do miss you. I'm sorry."

Not real. Not true. Fake. Lying.

"Are you really?" Patrick says, almost sneering. "Are you really, Pete?"

"I am, Lunchbox, I am." He looks so apologetic, and it makes Patrick tremble.

By when they're in the sofa they've kissed over ten times and Patrick has started crying and telling him all that happened in these months. The drinking, the one night stands.

"I gave blow jobs to random dudes after concerts," he says, sobbing a little bit. "I just wanted to feel attention."

Pete traces circles on his back comfortingly. And he understands as he kisses the younger boy in the lips and kisses his neck. He doesn't go further than that; he understands.

Patrick smiles for the first time in a while.


End file.
